


(we) can retell

by autoluminescence



Category: Glee
Genre: Canon Jewish Character, Gen, Hannukah, frienship fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-06
Updated: 2011-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-27 00:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoluminescence/pseuds/autoluminescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giant flat tots, T. How do you guys not eat these all year 'round?</p>
            </blockquote>





	(we) can retell

The smell of candles and oil wafts from the kitchen, full of Tina’s family talking and washing up in the brief period after dinner and before the singing begins, to Tina’s room, where she and Mercedes are sprawled over her bed, clutching their stomachs and giggling hysterically.

“And _then_ , oh my God, he actually made me read a three page email to Blaine asking if they could, you know, maybe possibly but not big deal if you don’t want to but I think it could be really cool bro you know if we’re bros maybe … carpool to school together since they live on the same side of town.”

Mercedes actually falls off the bed at this point, prompting a fresh peals of laughter from both parties as Tina scrambles to help her up.

“He’s actually made a _car playlist_ in case Blaine says yes. It has over 100 songs.”

Mercedes wipes her eyes and tries to control her breathing enough to speak. “Damn, girl. Has he ever even made you a playlist?”

Tina flushes red, hoping her thoughts of the latest (of 20, thank you very much) mix from Mike isn’t all over her face. She must admit, though, Melissa Ferrik’s _Drive_ had been an inspired choice.

“Um, you know, one or two. Whatever, I’m glad he’s making a new friend. Maybe it means he can stop counting the days between each one of Matt’s emails.”

Mercedes nods, still chortling slightly. They fall into a comfortable silence, curled up and snuggling slightly on Tina’s duvet.

It’s so good to know that they still can. Mercedes has been coming over to her place every Hannukah – and Tina to her’s every Christmas – since seventh grade, when Tina was still so curled up inside herself she could barely breathe and Mercedes was so brash and beautiful than Tina would stand too close, just to catch some of the cast-off.

Mercedes loves Hannukah, especially Mrs. Cohen’s latkes ( _giant flat tots, T, how do you guys not eat them all year ‘round?_ ) and Tina loves Christmas with the Jones family, little cousins under every foot and a giant, amazing tree holding court.

There was no way they were going to miss out, but with the tension between New Directions and the Troubletones, Tina had been carrying a pit in her stomach for the past week that she might not get taste Mr. Jones’ life-altering Christmas cookies this year. When Mercedes texted her with strict instructions to tell her mom to remember the applesauce and the sour cream for the party, it was like hitting the perfect note on target after weeks of being sharp.

Tina snuggles in closer, throwing an arm around Mercedes’ waist and burying her head in her shoulder. “I miss you,” so quiet and muffled that for a second, she can hope against hope she wasn’t heard.

She can feel muscles stiffening under her, though, and there’s no mistaking Mercedes’ recognition. “I know. Me, too.”

Tina hears – and feels – a small, shuddering sigh. “I’m so sorry for leaving you. I just _couldn’t_ , anymore, fighting for every piece and never getting more than a glance. And now I’m can sing and dance and I’m a leader, and you know what? I’m actually pretty good at it.”

Tina smiles, small. “I’m sure you are. You were always… you know. My leader.”

“Why didn’t you come join us, then?” And it’s still quiet, but Tina can hear the pain in Mercedes’ voice as she jolts up.

“ _What?_ ”

Mercedes props herself on one arm, playing with a loose string in the blanket and refusing to make eye contact.

“I thought. I guess, I thought you had had enough, too.”

Tina nearly leaps off the bed. “You’re asking me _now_? Are you – are you insane?” Because, shit, _of course_ she was sick and tired of it, sick of never finishing a solo and never getting a part and _never being good enough, ever_.

But, now? She was sure Mercedes had forgotten all about it, and, she can’t lie, that hurt like a knife to the gut.

“You never – before. You never asked me. You asked _Brittany and Santana_.” And she nearly starts crying because that, _that_. She loves Brittany like a sister and she’s been in pure awe of Santana for as long as she can remember, but to know that Mercedes liked _them_ more. Respected them more.

Forgot about Tina. Forgot about the time in eighth grade when Tina slept over for a week because she couldn’t bear another fight with her mother. Forgot about the time freshman year when Mercedes helped re-dye her hair and they got blue all over the Jones’ bathroom and got absolutely ripped apart by her parents. Forgot that Tina fought every bit as much as she did, and picked _Brittany and Santana_ , fuck, instead.

A shout from downstairs interrupts the tense silence. “Girls! Get down here, singing’s ‘bout to start!”

Tina jumps, startled. “I guess we better go down,” and heads for the door.

“Hey- wait a sec-“ and then Tina’s being enveloped in a hug, clinging tightly and no, she hasn’t been forgotten, they’re still together, they’re still them.

It doesn’t fix anything. Mercedes isn’t going to relent easily, now that she knows what it could be, and for all her feelings, Tina can’t bear the thought of leaving New Directions, the place that’s been her second home for almost three years.

It’s enough, though.

They trip downstairs together, stumbling over each other and shakily, wetly laughing over their silliness (that really, really, isn’t silly at all).

The living room is cast in the light of the menorah, and her family is just finishing the first verse of Mi Yimalel. Tina will have to remind them to do an English one, next – Mercedes always complains that she can’t stand it when there’s singing in a language she can’t participate in.

She’s shocked, then, when Mercedes’ beautiful voice rings out high, over their call of “ _Sh’ma_ ,” clear and perfect.

 _I will_ , Tina thinks, and begins to sing.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a play on the translation to Mi Yimalel (Who Can Retell?), a traditional Hannukah song. Sh’ma, the first word to the second verse, means “listen” or “hear,” and it has a lot (hmmm, understatement of the century) of important symbolic meaning in Judaism.


End file.
